Laafi Bala: Koudougou Contemplations and Prayers

I keep seeing M'Po Augustine's feet in my mind. Her bare toes pointing up and thin legs crossed at the ankle, resting next to mine on the ground. This is where we spent ninety percent of our visiting: in the courtyard of her home in Koudougou, Burkina Faso, West Africa, seated on chairs and woven mats close to the paved earth. Brown, barefoot children, intent family gathered all around - with three year old Marguerite Kiemde tucked behind either her father or myself, sheepishly peering out at her newly proclaimed grandmother. "Yaaba." 

I recall the warm touch of my mother-in-law’s hands on mine while she spoke softly to me in More', offering a blessing, or more loudly with new phrases she's asking me to repeat. “Laafi be me;  Laafi bala."How is your health? We are in good health.  

These memories bring me back to my post in her home on the outskirts of Burkina’s third largest city. M'Po's eyes smile and I recognize their joy as that which she passed on to her son. I think to myself, "Who could ever mistake this woman for my husband's birth mom?" Their eyes dance with delight and a simultaneous darkness. As she holds my hands and whispers, I wonder, “How much has she seen in her life?” As one of fifteen of Regma’s wives; a bearer of 8 children; mother and grandmother to countless babes; mourner of two deceased sons. My imagination races with what her eyes, heart, mind have taken in and known.

We sat daily in shaded spaces - under mango trees, under tin canopies, under thatched roofs, under the roofs of cars -- to protect ourselves from the intensity of the sun's rays. 110 degrees fahrenheidt is something to endure...Our consumption of liquids was seemingly never-ending to replenish all that was perspired through our pores. Bottled water. Brakina Beer. Milk. Water. Orange Fanta. Sugared Nescafe. Tea. Brakina beer. 

Our first Sunday in my husband's homeland included mass at the Ouagadougou Cathedral, followed by a meal in the shade of pink flowering trees and a thatched covered dining area. French fries, fish, rice and spicy soup served up next to a swimming pool – and then a trip to visit Armelle, Francois' niece, in the hospital. It was an especially poignant trip for me, as Armelle was the first one to really "introduce" me to my husband's home through a series of photographs she'd taken and sent back with Francois on a previous visit. Armelle with the broad cheeks and smile. Armelle with the curly hair. Armelle with the bold request and vision for her own hair salon. Armelle, the middle child in an orphaned sibling set. 

As we approached the mental health facility in our car where Armelle was being treated, a young man emerged from the crowd outside our vehicle. Was he en route home? Was he looking for us? Where was he going? How did we see one another?

Suddenly, More and French words were being exchanged enthusiastically; the car door opened to invite in this child, and I realized that Francois was greeting someone special.

 It was outside the gates of his sister's hospital room, that I met Cedric Kiemde for the first time. This 14 –year-old-looking 17-and-a- half-year-old son of Francois' deceased brother Raphael. And something shifted inside my heart. Cedric was the very first official Kiemde child I met in the daylight, and my heart felt like it might burst inside my chest. Big eyes, dark skin, broad smile. Sweetness incarnate.

"Enchante'" I repeated, squeezing his hand, when we got out of the car. "Enchante."

 "No, that's too formal," my husband chided. But I didn't care. I was beyond delighted to make his acquaintance. Enchante. Enchanted I was, and still am. 

Georgette, Zio, Victor, Roger, Wally, Lucy, Mark, Pauline, Delphine, Kaillou, are all central figures from Francois' large and extended family and network of friends that I can still name, beyond Yaaba, Cedric and Armelle. At every corner would appear someone else my husband would claim as a brother or sister, a friend or elder who had known him his whole life. At the pharmacy counter. In the lobby of our hotel. Stopping to retrace the boundaries of his childhood home. Visiting his father’s gravesite. Kiemdes everywhere. And conversations ensued. Words of joy, passion, sorrow, humor uttered almost ceaselessly in French and More'. While my mind never processed literally what was being said, I know on the deepest levels of my spirit and psyche that this visit and the stories are stored in my being. Pain. Poverty. Blessings. Need. Hope.

Can you pay this electric bill?

You have a beautiful family!

Your brother has a new job.

Would you make me a loan for my peanut and t-shirt cart?

Here now it rains!

She will recover!

It makes me so happy to see you.

I wept when I met Georgette and Roger. These two siblings of Francois' in particular who have held my prayers and attention. I keep them close still as I write. Older sister responsible for sending Francois to the States. Younger brother who my husband helped get grounded in work. 

***

We birthed and buried our own son Xavi last September. And that experience gave way on many levels for this trek to my husband's homeland. With our child’s brief life and the ache present in our home as we grieve him, there is this amazing open space in our hearts that begs God for direction in receiving anew. Our time in Koudougou provided us with real glimpses of God's goodness, and possible ways that our family may expand in welcoming a new member. 

The invitation to reframe Xavi’s life and death is constant. We didn’t just lose a son, we broke open a way to grieve our family’s deepest sorrows, and make way for new life.  With our hollowing out, has come a greater capacity to receive and claim.

A child. Our marriage. Our family. Our callings.

On a very practical level then, Francois and I have been prayerfully discerning our next steps. In the quiet of each of our hearts, and in our spoken prayers and reflections, we both know we would like Cedric to come and live with us. We have investigated adoption, as a permanent response to this calling to receive him, but have learned that that window is closed, given his age. So: we are simply inviting Cedric to come and visit. We hope this might happen as quickly as August. We shall see.

The Visitation Sisters have a prayer that they say with most everyone who knocks on their door in need or want of something. As I recognize my own incredible need and want at this juncture, I request your prayers. I invite you to join me and Francois as we contemplate these words by St. Francis de Sales:

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;
the same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you then and everyday.
He will either shield you from suffering,
or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

May we be at peace. May we know God’s embrace. May we take our next best steps.
Amen.

**************************************************************************************

To see pictures from our journey: Africa Photos Online

On Falling in Love with Francois

On Wednesday morning this past week, I got a text message from my mom, in Omaha, Nebraska, informing me that she had just put my grandmother and great-grandmother's diamond engagement ring in the mail. She sent it certified and insured mail to my boyfriend, Francois Xavier Kiemde, in Madison, Wisconsin, with her blessing, and the larger understanding that he would be presenting it to me - in due time.

I was driving down East River Road on the way to the University when I got the message. And I started crying. All the oxygen went out of my lungs, my eyes filled with tears, and I had to pull my car over. I am not sure completely how to describe such a moment, or locate myself in that emotional, mental, spiritual space, but I think it goes something like this:

I am in love. Wildly in love.
Someone adores me.
A gentleman bread baker and pastry chef named Francois from Burkina Faso wants to commit his life to me and be my husband.
There's a ring that has three generations of diamonds in it in the mail, representing men and women from my mom's family. It's a ring from my ancestors that I will wear someday.

It's like a century of love and faith and commitment and hard work and battles and joy and tears and terror and the unknown have been packaged up in a box and put on a train/ plane/ truck to this guy who loves me. And all that love/ faith/ commitment/ hard work/ battle/ joy/ tears/ terror/ unknown energy will be opened and at some unknown date in the future, be placed on my finger, with a promise to engage and immerse ourselves completely in the journey represented by that ring. Francois and I will get married. And I'm ecstatic.

I text messaged my mom back from the side of the road, trying to convey my gratitude to her, my awe for this moment, my love for this man. But how does someone do this in a text message? Shoot! How does anyone relay any kind of thoughtful reflection about their heart and mind and spirit to anyone? Is it possible? God knows I try, but goodness, do words ever convey what we feel and live and breath as a kind of truth in our limbs and bodies and lungs?

I think this is when I began trying to mentally draft a contemplative blog about the day, and this experience, and what it has meant falling in love with Francois.

Who is Francois Kiemde?
Why do I love him?
How do I know I want to get my grandmother's ring from him? (What preceded my mom putting this heirloom/relic in a box and mailing it to him?)
How does he know he wants to marry me? (How does anyone know they want to take this next step?)
How did mom's parents know they loved each other? How did Bette and Francis Liewer know? (Or my dad's mom and dad: John and Julia Adeline?) Or my great- grandparents-- whose diamonds are set in this ring: Matthew and Clara? Or Edna Bell and Matthias?

Whew. I could get dizzy thinking about it all. But it's not that hard.

Mr. Kiemde rocks. He rocks my soul, my heart, my world. Trying to write about this to my friend Nomi, I found myself drawing on her language: He's a man. The kind of man that presents himself to a woman, and makes her feel strong and beautiful and simultaneously, okay to be gentle and open; vulnerable, but courageous. With him, I feel like there's no challenge or obstacle we cannot handle, or any dream and goal we cannot realize: together.

***

I wrote of meeting Francois a few months ago, after he'd asked me formally to be his girlfriend. Since then, this fellow has continued to court me in the most honorable, intentional fashion that both inspires reflection on old-fashioned notions of "wooing"-- to prayerful contemplations on transformative models of marriage discernment.

Francois Xavier Kiemde is all man drawing forth and uplifting all facets of who I am as a woman.

He is a gentleman presenting himself as husband, as father, as lover, as provider, as nurturer, as supporter, as faithful and faith-filled fellow who desires me as a partner for all our days to come.

Here are some "Kiemde-isms" that underscore this journey for me in love:

Tell me about your last love. Would you be willing to go to counseling with me, so that we could create a solid way of communicating and caring for our relationship and sustaining a commitment?

I see us living here and in Africa.

Please, have your friends and family pray for us.

Can you find this scripture for me: "Trust the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding"? I think it's Proverbs.

Unless a husband is present for his wife emotionally, and really listening to her, you can kiss the marriage goodbye.

My prayer is for you to follow your dreams: doing what you feel God calling you to do. Social justice, writing, creating, teaching, no matter what, I want you to be happy and stay true to yourself.

I see us working together, doing community service....(pause) and it's not court -ordered!

I may not be the Obama you are looking for, but I could definitely be like Desmond Tutu!

Honey, it's garage sale season. Can we stop and check one out?

Funny. Joyous. Serious. Intentional. Smart. Prayerful. Political. Quiet. Attentive.

I love him.

***

Stay tuned.

Peace,
Melissa

Toward Africa: Needles and Nuns

Hey Fam, Hey Friends!

Just a little report, as I make some headway toward this next journey abroad.....

Today, I got my shots! Woohoo! Two of the four injections that I'll have to have, thank you very much, before traversing the diverse landscapes of Africa. (South Africa, to Tanzania to Zanzibar to Kenya to Uganda to Ghana. Really? We shall see...!?)

After hearing this line up of countries, Dr. Raje at Open Cities Health Clinic advised that I have a Tdap (Tetanus, Diphtheria, and Pertussis), Hepatitis A, Yellow Fever and Typhoid vaccinations, along with Malaria meds. Thanks to Latitia, the lovely nurse I've developed a nice rapport with in the past couple years, I received two of my shots pretty pain free. (Though not without tears! The needles don't hurt, but I just wasn't expecting that we'd have to shoot into both of my upper arms.?! Thanks, mom for your text message of support!) ....

I have to make a small note here about Latitia, because I'm not sure how many other people really get to know or feel comfortable with their medical practitioners. Latitia is like a former student of mine. In reality, we discovered she used to date a former student of mine. She is young and sassy. She is sweet and clever, and though sometimes seemingly overworked, she is honest and kind with me. And in the last office visits I've paid to this clinic, we have found our way to this comfortable place of being prayerful in any medical treatment approach. Our conversations have taken us all over the place, from education to politics to faith to love, and ultimately, we have shared some kind of spiritually-calming experience.

Today, after learning that Latitia did not watch the Vice Presidential debates, because she was at church planning for her pastor's and grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary, we talked about this gift of her faith community, and the gift of marriage. I did my "Thank you, God" litany for these people and circumstances in her life, as she proceeded to prep my right arm for injection. Whew. I started up again then when she grabbed the needle.

"Thank you, God for nurses. For vaccinations. For clean needles. For clinics. For being able to travel abroad. For..."

And she jumped in, "Thank you, God, that Melissa has the money to travel and see the world!"

It was so freaking sweet. Okay. I just had to share that.

Next: I drove downtown to the Department of Public Health to get my Yellow Fever, Typhoid and Malaria meds. I remember this from the last go round, but I forgot that they only give out these shots during specific hours of the day. (Do other people have to go to the Department of Public Health when they travel abroad? This strikes me as funny, now. Why didn't my clinic have these vaccines? Is it an insurance thing? A public health issue?)

Anywho: Then I was onto the nuns in North Minneapolis. Mass and lunch with the Vis sisters and spiritual direction time with Sr. Mary Margaret. God bless me! Visiting were a brother from St. John's, a monk from Collegeville, MN, who said mass, and then Fr. Bill Donnelly from Villanova, PA. I love who shows up at this place! I was just at mass on Tuesday, and sharing a bit more of the unfolding details of my trip to Africa, when I asked Sr. Karen about her friend who lives someplace on the southern end of the African continent. She promised to look this info up for me, as she didn't quite recall where this priest was....Well, don't you know that this visiting Augustinian from Philadelphia, after learning of my ensuing Africa-travel- plans says, "Oh! You must look up Frank Doyle! He's a good, good friend of Karen and mine who lives outside Durban. Yes."

(http://www.augustinian.org/missions_africa.htm)

I mean how cool is that? This guy Bill is in town for less than 24 hours (after escorting a sick friend to the Mayo Clinic) and here he is: pointing me in the direction of a guy I was looking for earlier in the week, across an ocean? I love the convergence, or connecting information!

So: Fr. Frank Doyle. Augustinian outside of Durban, South Africa. I make a note of this. I say "thank you;" I move on.

Spiritual Direction with Mary Margaret is like the most sacred thing a being might have the privilege to do on this planet. An hour, 90 minutes, with a wise woman of God, who just wants to hold open the space for you, as you reflect on how you hear God, feel called by Love to be, serve, act, travel, ask questions!? It's a privilege! Pure privilege! I highly encourage everyone to get themselves into spiritual direction! It's simply an amazing, amazing gift!

Sr. Mary Margaret and I discussed this current space, this current plan to travel, and we prayed. And like those vaccinations I got earlier to ready me for travel, I felt just as prepared by this wise woman's council and spiritual medicine, as I did receiving the literal injections of medicine.

Yes!

Final note: I BOUGHT MY TICKET! I leave November 10, flying into Johannesburg, I return December 21, flying out of Accra, Ghana.

Stay tuned. As the unfolding of events shall continue.

November 4: Election

November 8: I turn 40.

November 10: I depart.

In there, there are parties! As I make my way and lean into this call to love, be change, build relationships, learn and serve.

Amen. Peace,

Melissa

Costs of Universal Healthcare: A French Model and the Questions it Invites for the US

The following is an excerpt from the Borgmann Family Blog. I am deeply appreciative to my cousin Jill Timmer-Teehan, who lived in Paris, France, for two years with her family, and who thinks deeply about topics, weighing research with her lived experience, as she discerns a course of action and invites our collective examination of issues in the United States. In this case: health care. She provided the following information on France's Health Care System that I'm citing here and responding to. Below, you'll find my brother-in-law's response as he weighs this information, and asks his own thoughtful questions. We are all examining the information, looking at wellness, and the costs of well-being for all.

Costs of Universal Healthcare: French Model

Jill, thank you for sending this article!

This is excellent information to weigh on what [universal health care] costs. [This stands out to me from your article]:

In 2005, U.S. spending came to $6,400 per person. In France, it was $3,300.

To fund universal health care in France, workers are required to pay about 21 percent of their income into the national health care system. Employers pick up a little more than half of that. (French employers say these high taxes constrain their ability to hire more people.)

Americans don't pay as much in taxes. Nonetheless, they end up paying more for health care when one adds in the costs of buying insurance and the higher out-of-pocket expenses for medicine, doctors and hospitals.

Again, thanks for sending this, Jill.

Do we want to spend more on taxes in order to ensure the well-being for all?

I am curious about what France's incarceration rates are, as well as the cost to fund their prisons. US jails, for me, are a direct expense in not investing in early-healthcare and education, and looking at the sustainability of such things to achieve life-long well-being and realization of God's gifts-- for each and EVERY PERSON.

Meditating on fishes and loaves,

chickens and eggs,

Melissa

On Sep 6, 2008, at 10:58 AM, Jill Timmer Teehan wrote:

In 2000, health care experts for the World Health Organization tried to do a statistical ranking of the world's health care systems. They studied 191 countries and ranked them on things like the number of years people lived in good health and whether everyone had access to good health care. France came in first. The United States ranked 37th.

Some researchers, however, said that study was flawed, arguing that there might be things other than a country's health care system that determined factors like longevity. So this year, two researchers at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine measured something called the "amenable mortality." Basically, it's a measure of deaths that could have been prevented with good health care. The researchers looked at health care in 19 industrialized nations. Again, France came in first. The United States was last.

French Lessons

Now some American experts say there's a lot Americans can learn from the French.

For starters, the French system is not what most Americans imagine, says historian Paul Dutton at Northern Arizona University, author of Differential Diagnoses: A Comparative History of Health Care Problems and Solutions in the United States and France.

"Americans assume that if it's in Europe, which France is, that it's socialized medicine," he says. "The French don't consider their system socialized. In fact, they detest socialized medicine. For the French, that's the British, that's the Canadians. It's not the French system."

France, like the United States, relies on both private insurance and government insurance. Also, just like in America, people generally get their insurance through their employer.

In France, everyone has health care. However, unlike in Britain and Canada, there are no waiting lists to get elective surgery or see a specialist, Dutton says.He says the French want pretty much the same thing as Americans: choice and more choice.

Universal Coverage, Not At Expense Of Choice

Dutton says these shared values come out of a shared history. Both countries are products of Enlightenment-era revolutions.

"The French hold individual liberty and social equality very dear ... 'liberty, equality, and fraternity' — of course the slogan of their revolution," he says. "And in this country, of course, we have similar ideals: individual liberty, social equality — equal chances for everyone."

But the French have done a better job of protecting those values in health care, Dutton says.

Americans often assume that when people get universal coverage, they give up their choice in doctors, hospitals and care. That's not the case in France, Dutton says. The system is set up both to ensure that patients have lots of choice in picking doctors and specialists and to ensure that doctors are not constrained in making medical decisions.

In France, the national insurance program is funded mostly by payroll and income taxes. Those payments go to several quasi-public insurance funds that then negotiate with medical unions to set doctors' fees. (Doctors can choose to work outside this system, and a growing minority now charge what patients are willing to pay out of pocket.) The government regulates most hospital fees. This system works collectively to keep costs down.

When someone goes to see a doctor, the national insurance program pays 70 percent of the bill. Most of the other 30 percent gets picked up by supplemental private insurance, which almost everyone has. It's affordable, and much of it gets paid for by a person's employer.

"There are no uninsured in France," says Victor Rodwin, a professor of health policy at New York University, who is affiliated with the International Longevity Center. "That's completely unheard of. There is no case of anybody going broke over their health costs. In fact, the system is so designed that for the 3 or 4 or 5 percent of the patients who are the very sickest, those patients are exempt from their co-payments to begin with. There are no deductibles."

Treating The Sickest

In France, the sicker you are, the more coverage you get. For people with one of 30 long-term and expensive illnesses — such as diabetes, mental illness and cancer — the government picks up 100 percent of their health care costs, including surgeries, therapies and drugs.

France has made an unusual guarantee that every cancer patient can get any drug, including the most expensive and even experimental ones that are still being tested, says Dr. Fabian Calvo, deputy director of France's National Cancer Institute. This kind of access is why the French — unlike Americans — say they are highly satisfied with their health care system, he says.

"It's a feeling of safety — that if you have a big problem, you could have access to the good therapy," Calvo says. When compared with people in other countries, the French live longer and healthier lives. Rodwin says that's because good care starts at birth. There are months of paid job leave for mothers who work. New mothers get a child allowance. There are neighborhood health clinics for new mothers and their babies, home visits from nurses and subsidized day care.

The Cost Of Care

It's expensive to provide this kind of health care and social support. France's health care system is one of the most expensive in the world. But it is not as expensive as the U.S. system, which is the world's most costly. The United States spends about twice as much as France on health care. In 2005, U.S. spending came to $6,400 per person. In France, it was $3,300.

To fund universal health care in France, workers are required to pay about 21 percent of their income into the national health care system. Employers pick up a little more than half of that. (French employers say these high taxes constrain their ability to hire more people.)

Americans don't pay as much in taxes. Nonetheless, they end up paying more for health care when one adds in the costs of buying insurance and the higher out-of-pocket expenses for medicine, doctors and hospitals.

France, like all countries, faces rising costs for health care. In a country that's so generous, it's even harder to get those expenses under control.

Last year, the national health system ran nearly $9 billion in debt. Although it is a smaller deficit than in previous years, it forced the government of President Nicolas Sarkozy to start charging patients more for some drugs, ambulance costs and other services. Debates over cost-cutting have become an expected part of the national dialogue on health care.

Related Stories

July 10, 2008

France's Model Health Care For New Mothers

July 9, 2008

France At Forefront Of Free, Innovative Cancer Care

Jill Timmer Teehan
2690 Kelly Knoll Lane
Newbury Park, CA 91320

(805) 499-7027 home
(484) 888-5549 cell
brenjillca@yahoo.com

There Will Be Change No Matter What: Questions for Discerning your Vote

The following is an excerpt from the Borgmann-Family Blog. I am writing after the close of the Republican National Convention, posing questions for further reflection and discernment. My Aunt Marian's comment follows.

============================================================
Notes on the Republican National Convention

There will be change, no matter what.

We will have a feisty war hero who has served this country for decades, paired with a fiery woman who has lead in Alaska. Or we will have a feisty black man who inspires and believes in
change from the bottom up, paired with a seasoned Catholic congressman.

Both will serve and work for reforming and rebuilding the failed parts of this country's economy, its relationships between its citizens and immigrants here, and its relationships with others
across the globe. Both will work for the greatest good in making change in our energy
sources and educational systems.

HOW each will do this, though, is what we must all be really curious about, and really weigh.

What has shaped the perspective and capacity to lead of each Presidential Nominee?
What shapes and governs our individual perspectives and thus influences most greatly how we vote?
What is each of our top issues, and how did that issue get born?
What do we agree on in this family?
Is there a coalition or platform that is the readership of this list- serve?
How can we see all sides or facets of the issues most pressing our family?

How can we see all sides or facets of the issues most pressing for our country? (How might these greatly differ or align? Who don't we see in the Borgmann Family Blog? Who do we?)

What assignments or research might we have to do, in order to grasp the fullness of what is before us?
How much time or energy do any one of us have to investigate anything?

What do we want our budget to look like?
How do our allocated resources reflect our priorities?

Prayers, Peace,
Melissa

Africa Discernings: How I Heard God this past week. Part I.

There are subtle and then not so subtle ways that I hear God talking to me. This past week's experiences were no exception -- especially where my heart has been concerned and a desire to return to Africa has persisted.

How do you hear God? Or how do you perceive the Divine at work in your life? Do you believe in a Benevolent Creator? Who among you gets nervous when I ask these questions? Who among you gets calm? What happens to me when I am writing about this stuff? Why do I write this stuff down? If I insert the word "Jah" or "Yahweh" or "Buddha" or "the open heart" or "Love" - does the question resonate more fully?

As someone who was raised Catholic, it's easiest for me to say, "God." But I get that that doesn't read or bode well for some of your spiritual and practical navigations. I respectfully and humbly submit my notes on such matters. I do so with humor and joy and hope, that, as a reader, you might know compassion and joy and hope as well. Yes. I think compassion and joy and hope are helpful things for my spirit, for your spirit, and for those around us who piss us off. It's best if we can have love rather than getting pissed off, don't you think? More love and compassion, less anger and pissiness. I'm just looking for a way through life that is helpful, rather than harmful. Navigating the love and fear and anger is an important thing to figure out, don't you think?

I digress.

Back to how I heard the Big Love talking to me this past week....

***

It's Sunday, and I'm in Norfolk, Nebraska. I'm at home for my aunt Peg's wedding, and taking an extra day in a long weekend to spend time with my family: my parents, my siblings, my nieces and nephews, my cousins, my aunts and uncles and friends that are in town.

It's good. It's been a long, long seven months since I've been home, and this trip back for a wedding - that has been a long, long time in the making - is well worth it!

Going home is not ever easy for me, as the eldest, unmarried child who travels solo in this rocking family with these rocking parents and rocking siblings and their spouses and significant others. I adore these people, and recognize how profoundly I am loved and cared for by them all, as well as how much I love them all. But often, I'm lonely in this family, and feel like a crazy older sister who is single and has no visible lover, and so by most accounts is on the track to becoming a "cat lady." I don't want to be a cat lady, by the way. (No offense to people with cats.) I want to be the older sister who rocks the casbah in the world by writing and making change and having a hot lover and partner who adores her and makes everyone laugh and inspires significant topics of conversation when he shows up with me.

Yeah. I want to come home with Barack Obama, or some equivalent of a single, young Desmond Tutu -- or even a kind of a Bill Clinton - without the Monica business. (I like leader types. I like especially leader types who love God and have the capacity to balance me out. Yes. I like leader types with scientific minds who like identifying the root causes of unwellness in our world and are seeking ways to heal us. Those with visions of life beyond the borders of the United States also rock.)

Anyway. It's church time. And I'm walking into Sacred Heart with my mom and some semblance or faction of siblings. And my mom says to me,

"Melissa, you are turning 40 this year. It's a significant birthday, a milestone; have you thought about how you want to celebrate this? Your sister is turning 21, also a significant birthday, maybe you want to do something together?"

And I pause for second and then find myself responding,

"I want to go back to Africa. I think I'm supposed to be back in Africa."

Now saying this aloud to my mom is like saying I want to date someone like Bill Clinton. I'm not sure that she really hears me, or can hear me. Like Bill Clinton, Africa --South Africa has it's overwhelming beauty and charm and promise and power. But also like Bill Clinton, South Africa has a kind of tainted image that brings up some kind of pain and scandal. My mom doesn't want to see me off to any place where there is pain and scandal. (That apartheid business was messy, right? And the poverty there ain't no joke. To say nothing of the HIV/ AIDS pandemic. And what my heart has done when it's been on South African soil or in proximity to citizens of the country?! Well it's all taken a gigantic toll on my spirit and psyche that my mom registers. And, ultimately, it all begs for love and attention -- not unlike the messy, screaming-for compassion-and-outrage impeachment circumstances once surrounding President Clinton. Who wants to spend any time dwelling on such things?!)

But my mom says nothing, and this is huge. A gift. And my words just rest there in the air as a kind of uttered dream, and this feels good to my heart. I don't know what I'm saying really in this moment walking into church, just giving voice to this achy space in my body and spirit that wants to speak and honor what God calls me toward....

Africa...South Africa....Kenya...Uganda...Zanzibar...Tanzania...Ghana...
Nigeria...Cameroon...Congo....Libya....Africa...

On this Sunday, the scripture and songs are not-so-subtly speaking to me. This is nothing unusual, however. Hearing God's voice in scripture? Please. That's the whole point! This former English teacher takes it all in stride: literature is literature is literature doing it's job reflecting and opening us up to ourselves and our world. What I note, however, is that the Gospel reading from Matthew is being repeated for the third time this week, and that is unusual.
(Per my bus- riding-routine to work, I'm praying with scripture daily via my pda.) Here I am for the third time this week, reading and hearing about Jesus and Peter, as the disciple is being called to walk toward Christ on the water. What's Peter do? He doubts. He second guesses himself and who God is, and he starts to sink.

When I read this passage on the Monday prior, it wasn't lost on me: Do not doubt God's love! When I read it on Tuesday, it was another gigantic reassurance: Do not be afraid! Step forward! Hearing it for the third time this Sunday, I am mildly blown away.

"Mom," I say to her next to me in the pew, "It's the third time this week this gospel has appeared."

And so I cry. Because I know: I have been doubting. I have been sinking. I have felt wildly like Peter in so many ways: believing, but fearing. And it's just not helpful, the fearing part. Because after all, when we doubt, we start to sink. Who needs more sinking? God sure doesn't. We are better off to trust and to receive and believe in love, than doubt in its source.

And then what happens next is the bigger "Wake up, Meliss and Pay Attention" jolt. A guest homilest rises in the pulpit to break open scripture, and his name is Francis, and he's an Oblate of Francis De Sales.

For those who don't know, Francis de Sales is one of the founders of the Visitation Order, and one of the groups of nuns I spend a lot of time with as a "Visitation Companion." He and the co-foundress, Jane de Chantal, are like my spiritual parents. I tune in.

Brother Francis is funny. He tells jokes. He brings comedy to his role in talking about the missionaries in the world. He likens Jesus' walk on this planet with the walk of the missionaries around the country. He talks about the gift of poverty. Of traveling and learning a new language. Of having to build relationships across culture and class and experience...Of having to ask for help. Of walking outside our comfort zones and following God's lead.

I am moved deeply. I am calmed by this man's message. My sister-in- law, Jodi and I exchange knowing glances after his sermon. Jodi's niece, who has just returned from South Africa, has announced her own intentions to become a missionary. Jodi and I pray for this niece and for the voices of concern and doubt and questions that have come forward. We get the ramifications of anyone making such an announcement to family. We pray.

My mom turns to me and says,

"Where do you think this guy is from? Your dad said there was a visiting priest from South Africa who was in church. Does he seem like he's from South Africa?"

I'm thinking "No, this Brother sounds like he's from New Jersey." But I appreciate that my dad is tuning into such things and asking questions....

And then it's time to sing. It's communion time, and the song the congregation is invited to join singing: Be Not Afraid.

And so in our two pews, our family does what we love to do: sings. My mom and I harmonizing, and the words inspiring more crazy emotion.

You shall cross the barren desert,

but you shall not die of thirst.

You shall wander far in safety,

though you do not know the way.

You shall speak your words in foreign lands,

and all will understand,

You shall see the face of God and live.

And I cry. I sing, I cry. I love. I feel it all. I know the desert. I am in the desert. I am wandering. I am safe, but I don't know the way. I want to return to this land where I've known overwhelming love, but I am afraid. I don't understand this call or why it persists, I just know it's here, and won't take a back seat. And so the words pour out as sung, harmonized prayer with my mom, "Be not afraid..."

And then we are done, and the congregation is sitting quietly in our post-communion contemplations, when Brother Francis comes back up to the mic.

"By the way," he says, "For those of you who don't know, that song was written by a Jesuit for a young nun. I'm sorry, a young SISTER, who was returning to Africa, but was nervous and afraid about her call to go."

Really? I mean really? I started laughing. It's like God was hitting me over the head: "Meliss, just in case you missed the message earlier, and you are doubting this desire, this invitation, yourself, me, here's another clue: Get your ass back to Africa! Quit being afraid! This sister was scared, and so are you, but it's okay. Go."

That's what I heard at least. I'm sorry if it offends anyone, too, when I hear God saying the word, "ass." Translation of God can be hard. I could be way off my rocker here. But the continuing coincidences or serendipitous messages reassure me.

I think I exchanged looks with my mom then. A smile. A knowing.

I will go.

Who am I to doubt or be afraid?

***

By the way, when I spoke to my dad later that day he inquired about the missionary's talk. He had attended the earlier 9am mass by himself and had a different guest speaker. "Did you have the brother from South Africa who sang the end of his homily in Swahili?" he asked me. "It was so awesome. I told your mom that you'd love it."

I appreciate my dad tuning in to such things. He's getting his own message, I think.

After November 2, 2004: A Reflection Today

The following was written as part of an ongoing series of email exchanges my family members and I are having on our Borgmann-Family-Yahoo-Group-List-serve. I share it here, encouraging everyone's ongoing reflection, dialogue and discernment around their voting action.

***

I remember November 3, 2004. I was utterly devastated. Woah. Talk about woe.

The United State's election for President was so close, and the candidates in my mind were so freaking far apart. And I was so afraid of the wretched and widening gap between people in the U.S. The division was so ugly between Democrats and Republicans, and mirroring the even-further separation of those with resources and those in poverty.

Ugghh.

It still makes my heart quake.

"Disbelief" is a word I have to describe my state of mind about the state of affairs on November 3, 2004.

"This can't really be possible. We elected George W. Bush? We are choosing fear? We are choosing aggression? We are perpetuating a kind of blindness to humanity, a blindness to global citizenship? We are willfully ignoring the creation of relationships and working instead to sever and destroy?"

I'm speaking about my perception of our country's leaders working from this well-conveyed mentality: The post-9/11 mentality - of getting "evil doers" OUTSIDE our country -- when we forgot to check within our own hearts the rage and hate that perpetuates "evil" here!

Should I list those fears so rampant in the days leading up to November 2nd?

• The fear of gay people. That was a big one.
• The fear of two same sex individuals getting married and threatening the sanctity of"real" married love.
• The fear of Muslims.
• The fear of amassed arsenal and sneak attacks.
• The fear of spending money on social programs, on education.
• The fear of spending money on mass transit infrastructure.
  
• The fear of science and research that might destroy life.

I remember shortly thereafter having dinner at my then partner's home.

Dudley's parents were in town from Vermont. Her mom, the state poet, Ellen Bryant Voigt and her father, Fran Voigt, named "Vermont's Citizen of the Year," had come for a visit. Also at the table were writer and contemplative, Patricia Hampl, and her husband, (whose name escapes me now.). All civic-minded individuals, all passionate about equality, justice, freedom, but achieving those in a radically different manner than what George W. Bush had prescribed for the country. All, too, had come of age during the 60's, Civil Rights, Vietnam, Women's Liberation, and found themselves called to work diligently to make change....

All were teachers, too, as I think about it now.
Ellen and Fran were college professors in Vermont, at Goddard College, and Patricia was/ is at the University of Minnesota...And then there was Dudley and I, working on "The Juno Collective," and working with our little crew of urban students, trying to make our kind of revolutionary change in the way people see, assess literacy, intelligence, and understand diversity....

But on that evening, at the table, we were all in mourning over the turn we saw our country taking:
The turn toward war.
The turn of citizens and our leaders toward embracing and being lead by the FEAR of "evil" in the world - and needing to CONTROL IT, STOP IT...and how? By BEING VIOLENT AND DESTRUCTIVE OURSELVES!

***

Do you guys know Sun Tzu? My friend Vuyi turned me onto his classic text, "The Art of War."

In this, (the "oldest military treatise in the world") the Chinese leader states,

"Choose your enemy wisely, for you eventually become him."

That thought sticks in my head a lot right now, as I think back to that election, and the war we've waged in the name of Peace and Democracy, LIberation....And the way that I'm living and working to love, discern, act right now.

I can't vilify George W. Bush, name him as "enemy," or point and blame him for all that is at hand. In doing so, I become him. (Do you understand this?) I can, however, intelligently, reasonably, compassionately, REFLECT on November 2nd and all the days since then. I can reflect on my fellow citizens. On myself. On all that has transpired in the course of the last four years in my own heart, in my own home, in this country, and what I know of the larger global societies. And I can make my own change.

I CAN CHOOSE NOT TO HAVE AN ENEMY. I can choose not to act from my fears, but from my faith. I can choose to see the inter-connectedness of all beings. I can choose to see everyone with new eyes: as Love. I can choose to see as a benevolent and all-loving Creator asks me to see. See as God asks us all to see. And I can vote and act from that place of thinking and being.

Peace,
Melissa

"Why I am Voting for Barack Obama: A Contemplative Response"

What does it mean to cast a vote?

What does it mean to be President?

What calls anyone to act?

What thoughts and convictions are weighed before a person steps forward (to vote, to run for office, to do anything!)?

How does anyone arrive at a choice, a decision?

What are the core values or beliefs I hold about leadership, about citizenship?

What makes good leadership? What makes a good citizen? What makes a good human being, for that matter?

How is any of that assessed?

How do I measure my own presence on the planet?

What indicators invite or inspire me to continue on in my journey?

What is the role of Spirit, of Love, of Faith in any decision?

How do those factors differ from Hate and Fear in making a decision, or casting a vote?

What direction do I want to see my life go in? How does that compare with what I want for my community, my state, my country, the planet?

How do I vote?

Why vote?

Ohhhweee! Asking questions makes my head spin! But, these are the ones that surface as I wrestle with the words to articulate my reason for voting for Barack Obama in tomorrow's Super Tuesday Election.

Why vote for Barack?

First and foremost, I don't believe change starts with him. Or with any leader, really. I believe it starts in myself. In my belly, in my brain, in my heart, and in how I choose daily to breathe and act and be on the planet.

Since I left teaching, and struggled (some might say "failed") in creating an organization aimed at honoring the leadership and literacy of young people, I have wrestled deeply with some of these core questions about government, about leadership, about programs, systems, relationships -- and assessing and measuring the "success" of anything.

Time and again: I come back to this notion articulated so beautifully and simply by Mahatma Ghandi:

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

I have taken that literally to heart. It informs how and why I get up in the morning, and how I work to intentionally conduct myself from moment to moment.

I get up to Love. And be Love. That's all that I truly have any kind of power or authority over: my own choosing to be a person of non-aggression, peace, and - let me repeat: LOVE!

And then, at the end of the day, or from moment to moment, I get to measure and assess my own actions, by asking:
Did I work for peace? Did I perpetuate a kind of good feeling in my interactions, or stir up the bad? Do I demonstrate love? Did I? How did simply showing up serve a kind of joy vs. woe? Is breathing in a space and sending out good thoughts enough? Am I an agent of change? Am I enough?

So in my own skin, bones, muscle tissue, blood, being: I get to choose what and how I conduct myself, and as a former teacher, it's what I invite each and every person I encounter to do or be, simply by modeling it, Love, to the best of my ability.

So, Okay, saying all that, where does that get me in my thinking about casting my vote for the next President of the United States? (Or representative of one party, really.)

Well, what it does, is help me align my convictions, and weigh those of the candidates and examine how they convey their own philosophical ideas and lead from that space.

Do they inspire me?

Do they inspire others?

Who is working for the greatest good?

What is the greatest good?

I think my "bottom line" in this question, is that Barack Obama is inspiring and moving people to act on their own behalf. To be the change themselves. He said quite clearly to the crowd of 20,000 gathered at the Target Center in Minneapolis on Saturday,

"I don't believe change comes from the top down, it comes from the bottom up."

And that, my friends is a core conviction of mine, finding alignment with a presidential leader. And this "idea" isn't simply an IDEA, but is an ACTION, as I witness thousands in motion around this election. And: I don't see the movement, the motion of my own limbs, stopping with my own ballot being cast. I see my own momentum continuing, as I make my own small, transformational changes in my home and living, and find community and joy in those around me doing the same thing! I know change is happening in a powerful way! I see it! I am part of it! I am experiencing it!

***

I'll close this thinking and writing with an analogy that surfaced in an email to my cousin Derrick, a precinct captain for Obama, in Denver, Colorado. I shared this with him this morning:

As I was walking toward the Target Center Obama Rally on Saturday, crossing a bridge from North Minneapolis into Downtown, I pointed to the construction site below me, and said to my Aunt Trish, the Twin Sisters from South Dakota, and Ropan, the Nepalese engineering student, walking alongside:

"This is a metaphor."

The footings for the new Twin's stadium were poured, and these gigantic pillars of support were coming out up out of the earth.

"We are part of a solid foundation. Obama is leading us, cementing all of us together, in order to build this new thing where entertaining things can happen."

We laughed. But it's true. And Obama's message and leadership does not rest with us solely on this earth, as there are layers upon layers of our predeccessors, ancestors, leaders, that lie below and are coming through EACH of us, as we ruminate and ACT upon our convictions.

This construction: it's all an act of faith in the future.

***

Blessings on each of you as you discern your own course of action!

Peace,

Melissa